


Team Blonde Grifters

by Typey



Category: Leverage
Genre: F/F, Threesome - F/F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 11:54:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Typey/pseuds/Typey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Zanzibar Marketplace Job, Maggie has a slightly new outlook on things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Team Blonde Grifters

_“The first bomb **is** the hardest.”_

Maggie wasn’t so sure she’d describe the end result of her close-encounter with a bomb as “difficult.” 

_Exhilarating_ , for certain. She was sprawled across her hotel room bed, breathing heavily and coated in a light sheen of sweat. She doubted she could move any of her limbs, and she was certain there’d be sore muscles all over her body tomorrow. But the tension of the ticking clock in Kiev — forcing her lungs to fight for air and her mind to fight for focus — had nothing on the thrill that had coiled deep inside her as Tara had driven her to the brink again and again before finally bringing her to a shuddering climax as she was held firmly in Parker’s arms. 

Registering her flushed and tingling skin set off by the probability of imminent death in that elevator, Maggie had opted for the only reasonable outlet present for her adrenalized urge to _connect_ , to _feel_ , to spend her last seconds on earth in that place she only ever reached as lips touched and hands roamed; and kissing Nate had been good in that moment, but she hadn’t been made dizzy — by the bomb’s countdown or the feel of Nate’s hair sliding through her fingers as their tongues slid against each other — until two days later when it was Parker’s lips pressing not softly at all to her shoulder, her collarbone, her ribs, and Parker’s teeth marking a trail from sternum to navel to hipbone. 

Parker, whose appearance in that elevator had electrified Maggie’s nerves and quickened her breath rather than calmed her. Parker, who was taking up a position between Maggie’s thighs to put those lips — and teeth, lightly — to work priming Maggie to rush headlong again into that sensation of soaring, spinning elation. Parker, whose furrowed brow normally meant concentration on a safe or a vent or an exit route but now meant complete fixation on savoring the wetness coating Maggie’s thighs and matching the thrusts of her tongue to the rhythm of Maggie’s hips. Parker, who was reaching one hand up around Maggie to grasp at Tara’s for leverage as the other hand slipped under Maggie’s ass, lifting the older woman’s lower body as surely as the flood of dopamine was carrying her over the edge.

A tad _unexpected_ , maybe? Then again, maybe not unexpected at all after the light touch of Tara’s hand on hers in the embassy while they had shared a drink...and a lively conversation completely devoid of references to either of their dates and unmistakably underscored by drifting gazes and Maggie’s hand grazing her own throat in imitation of what she wished she could feel from Tara. After noting her own response to seeing that pink Herve Leger make its way into Parker’s luggage for the trip back to Boston — a response that included an unfiltered, and thankfully unvoiced, “what would _that_ look like crumpled on my bedroom floor?”, a thought that led to several others consisting of images of slowly drawing down a zipper and peeling pink fabric from porcelain skin, kissing that skin uncovered inch by inch and being oh-so-careful in not marring that masterpiece of couture...until it was time to toss it mindlessly behind her in impatience to get at everything that had been so-much-more-than-hinted-at underneath. After watching Parker and Tara talk to each other across Hardison as if he wasn’t there, and seeing both of the blondes note her departure from Nate’s table and then the bar. After Tara and Parker had followed her out of the bar, catching up to her easily despite their practiced nonchalance in public, and the con artist had leaned in asking if Maggie didn’t want company to help her... _settle down_...before she had to head back to LA. After Maggie’s low, rumbled, “that would be nice” said everything that needed to be said between a grifter, a thief, and an entirely above-board professional. After an otherwise silent walk and an elevator ride that included no kissing or fumbling or gasped breaths, because she wasn’t desperate for _now_ like she had been in Kiev and was reveling in the anticipation of what would surely come next in her Boston hotel room.

 _Honest_ , in a way that surprised her but perhaps shouldn’t any more. Alexander had lied to her; Nate had lied to her. It would never occur to Tara or Parker to lie to her, never occur to them to tell her that they were anything other than what they were. And how that truth twisted around in her mind — that a grifter and a thief would be the most honest people she’d know — even as Parker’s lithe, strong, flexible body twisted around and between her own and Tara’s, finding spaces between entwined legs and interlocked arms and laced fingers. Allowing Maggie to tell the truths of “yes, there” and “harder” and “God, you’re gorgeous.”

Amusing, even. Parker’s confusion when Maggie mentioned how much she wished that the Herve Leger was with them so the youngest member of their impromptu triad could put it on for them — “But the whole point is to be naked, not to put other clothes on.” That Tara, who was obviously still getting a feel for the slightly unusual brand of Parker’s earnestness, laughed at the perturbed, and very naked, woman before reaching out to caress her cheek and pull the smaller body toward her own. The noises Parker made as Tara brushed thumbs across peaked nipples and sucked hard at the side of her throat, where flushed skin from racing blood couldn’t mask that marks would color the graceful column for days. Maggie couldn’t help herself even in the middle of watching Tara and Parker’s exhilarating, honest explorations and her own need building yet again: “you’re adorable, Parker.” The indignant look shot her way over Tara’s shoulder was tempered by a moan and fluttering eyelashes and a nearly angelic look of bliss as Parker’s back arched and hips rolled hard into the pace of Tara’s thrusting fingers.

Her first bomb may have been hard, but Maggie liked the woman she’d let herself become because of it.


End file.
